Boxes of memories

I was watching as my boxes were getting loaded in a truck,

leaving the old town, I was about to leave my life’s big chunk.

First came the box of innocence,

Which was filled idiotic nuisance.

Babbling of child, pretty beautiful dolls,

Volcanoes of laughter erupting through the halls.

Then came the box of conceit maturity,

The arrival of which marked the absence of purity.

Sobs, yelling, bruises and crumpling relations,

Pride inflaming the flames of deafening hesitations.

One after the other came the boxes of oblivious memories,

Going down the lane of nostalgia, blew a different breeze.

Some small boxes, some large, some fragile,

Took the turns towards various aisles.

Some unbreakable, some full of lies,

I bid my final goodbye to the house of eyes.

Published by shadesofyellow